Free Wring: Road Kill MC #5 by Marata Eros

the money. We need the money. I can't hole up here and hope that he'll
just go away. He wants our house.”
    Mom's lips become a flat line. “Is that all he
wants?”
    I look at my toes, thinking about my job. I
sigh. I'll have to phone, do damage control.
    What am I going to say ? I can just hear
myself now. “Yeah, Sally—there's this gang guy and he harasses me
so he can make me his little whore and steal my mom's house. So
sorry. Today, he just happened by and wrenched my wrist while a
gang biker guy saved me and…” Yeah.
    Aloud, I say, “No. It's not all he wants.”
    “Let's phone the police again.” Mom spreads her
fingers on her thighs.
    I shake my head, biting my bottom lip. “That's
not going to work. These guys are just smart enough to not get
caught hassling me.” I look into her face. “And you. What happens
if they get really bold and break in here while I'm at work?”
    Mom hikes the archaic phone that habitually
rests on the table top beside her lamp and well-worn paperback. “I
phone 9-1-1.”
    I hang my head. “Mom, they could hurt you before
the police could respond.”
    “Maybe it's time for that state home, Shannon,”
Mom confesses in a low voice. “It's beyond time. Sell the
house, give it to that thug; keeping our home is not worth our
lives. Get what money we can and fund my care that way. You could
get a proper job and have a degree of autonomy you've never had
before.”
    I walk toward Mom and sink, resting my butt on
the heels of my boots.
    She searches my face, smoothing my hair back,
and smiles. “I've robbed you of your life, darling.”
    I vehemently shake my head, afraid I'll cry if I
speak.
    But she holds my face with her crippled hand and
tilts her head. “The disease has.”
    A sick exhale slides out of me. I can't dispute
that fact. “Yeah.”
    “What does it matter if this Vincent gets the
house? Let him have it for—what was it? Two hundred fifty thousand
dollars? I could receive help; you wouldn't be in this never-ending
cycle of caretaking.” Her eyes search my face. “You could have a
career with children. Like you've always wanted.”
    Her words fill my head like a dream.
    Except the nightmare of Vincent isn't going to
go away.
    “I want that. I mean, if there was anyone who
could take care of you the way I'd want it done.”
    Our rueful smiles match.
    “Anyway,” I say, putting my hand over hers, “he
doesn't just want the house anymore, Mom. Maybe, if we'd said yes
the instant he'd asked a couple of years ago, the deal would be
done. Our home would belong to a gang member.”
    She gives a regretful sigh. “No one ever said
life would be easy.”
    No shit.
    “But now he wants me to be some kind of slut
groupie or something.” My laugh is sad even to my ears.
    “Absolutely not.” Mom gives an emphatic shake of
her head.
    I shrug, gently taking her hand inside my own. I
turn it over, staring at the tissue-paper-thin skin covering slim
blue veins. “I know. That's the thing. Now, it's personal.” I
search her face. “I can't agree to one without agreeing to the
other.”
    Mom's smile is sudden, clever.
    “What?” I ask, excited. She's thought of
something. I know it.
    “Let's just commit, Shannon—put the house on the
market. It's zoned commercial. There's no reason why someone else
wouldn't be interested.”
    Her eyes gleam with unshed tears. Instinctively,
I know Mom would never sell our family homestead unless I was on
the line. She's that stubborn.
    But she's not stupid. And if I say the gang guy
wants to make me part of some messed up harem, she'll do everything
in her power to get me out of harm's way.
    Unfortunately, I feel the same way about her.
The two of us are a real pair.
    “He'll know.”
    Mom's chin lift is defiant. “Ask me if I care.”
Her snow-white eyebrow, speckled with pewter, quirks.
    “Do you care?”
    Her smile is sure. “Not a fig.”
    We grin. “Okay, maybe we can get the place sold
quickly. We grab the money and